Chapter Text
They’d have made it in time for exfil if the car could move faster than thirty miles per hour. As it was, they didn’t even make it all the way back to the airport.
“At least it waited ‘til we could see the place before it give up,” Jack says, letting the junker roll to a stop on the side of the road. He struggles with the gearshift before giving up and yanking the parking brake. “You able to make a call yet? We’re gonna be late.”
Mac pulls free the wires he’d been trying to use to connect his phone into the power hookups in the empty dashboard slot where the car's AM/FM radio used to be. “No.” He stuffs his dead cell phone into his back pocket and gets out of the car. “And we're already late. I'll be able to charge it on the plane.”
Jack huffs a laugh. “Sure, but it’ll be too late by then to warn exfil we’re coming.”
“We’ll be fine,” Mac says. After all, this isn’t the first time they’ve come rolling in right on or beyond the deadline. Exfil teams are used to that, and they’d wait a bit. Probably. Still, they both set out at a jog down the road and then, after a quarter mile or so, cut off the road and through the unkempt area that circled the small airport. There had been a fence here at some point, but it was also in disrepair. “Disrepair” generally describes most of the local construction, and the airport in general. But it had been the least suspicious way to arrive and depart. To keep things quiet, they dont' have a whole exfil team backing them up, just a pilot and a single exfil agent posing as the copilot, with seats for Mac and Jack in the back. Even the local drug lords haven’t noticed.
Or maybe they have, because Jack skids to a stop when they finally come within sight of the only thing that isn’t in disrepair: the small plane that’s supposed to ferry them away.
There’s a body lying next to it. Just one. They’re maybe a hundred feet away and that’s close enough Mac can see blood pooling on the ground. He recognizes the clothing and sandy hair of their exfil pilot. He doesn’t see their second agent, but there’s another suspicious stain on the ground nearer the building. They haven't heard any gunshots, so either something else had happened to their team, or it had happened before they got out of the car.
Jack holds out one hand, blocking Mac from getting nearer the corner. He draws his gun and backs up a step, bumping Mac back along with him. He makes eye contact and then makes a series of gestures Mac recognizes: there are at least four armed hostiles around the corner.
So they’ve walked into a trap. Somebody noticed them, connected the dots, and now exfil has very quietly gone all to hell. It’s only luck that they walked into the trap from an unexpected angle.
Matty probably suspects something because the exfil team will have missed at least one check-in by now. But she won’t know what, and she definitely doesn't have any other assets positioned nearby.
Mac taps Jack’s shoulder and points back the way they came, then gives him the hand signal for retreat. Jack nods, turns, and they make it about two steps before they catch sight of the foot patrol near the trees.
Jack sucks in a breath and Mac finds himself tugged into a shallow alcove against a steel door. They both flatten themselves against the door, as much out of sight as they can be while also totally exposed. Mac leans his head toward Jack. “Did you see Albers?”
“Nope,” Jack breathes. “Could be in the building.”
They exchange a look and there’s no question that they’re not leaving before they find out. Just because exfil gets sent in to get their bacon out of the fryer and not the other way around doesn't mean they’re not going to try to exfil their exfil team.
Mac nods. The door handle is a bump against the side of his hip. He reaches back and twists gently. “Door’s unlocked. Opens in.”
Jack hesitates. Going in blind through the door is a risk; they don’t know who’s inside or the layout of the building, and they’ll be trapped with their decision. He takes a peek around the alcove and jerks back. “Let’s try it.”
Mac turns the handle as far as it will go before he pulls on the door. There’s no noise from inside, and the room it opens into turns out to be empty. It looks like some kind of break room, with two battered tables, five mismatched chairs, a small sink, and a dented, harvest-gold fridge. “Ooh, my mama had one like that when I was a kid,” Jack whispers as he slides in behind, shutting the exterior door with a soft click.
Jack crosses the room to look through the interior door while Mac opens up the cabinet doors under the sink. The space stuffed with bottles, some mostly empty, some mostly full—it’s a veritable smorgasbord of chemical possibilities. He pulls out a few favorites and then checks the fridge and is pleased to find assorted containers.
“Whatcha got in mind?” Jack asks.
“Smoke bombs for sure. Something more explosive if we need it.” He starts dumping food from the containers into the trash then pulls out his knife, finds the awl, and begins poking holes in lids. “Albers?”
Jack shakes his head, his mouth turned down into a grim frown. “We only gotta worry about getting ourselves out of here.”
Mac nods and doesn’t ask more. They aren’t likely to have the opportunity to recover any bodies, so the only plan they now need is to get themselves extracted from their situation. “See any vehicles?” he asks.
“Not in this half of the airport. Could be down at the other end, but we ain’t gonna get down there without being seen. Our plane’s closer and there’s only one here right now, so they can’t follow. There’s a front door near us, the problem with it is it’s a straight line of fire from where they’re hanging out. If you make up some bombs, we can toss ‘em down the hall and run for it.”
Mac nods. He’s seen the local roads and they’re too rough to make a fast getaway by land. “You get to the plane and get the engine started. I’ll distract them with these, and follow.”
Jack looks unhappy with the plan, but there’s really nothing else to do except run back to the unkempt wilderness zone at the edge of the property and hope they can disappear into the trees. And that plan still sounds worse. “Fine,” Jack agrees. “But you better be quick about following me. I’m not flying out of here by myself.”
Mac gives him a pat on the shoulder as he picks up his three half-constructed smoke grenades, tucking them against himself with oen arm so he can grab the jug containing the final component with his other hand. “I’ll be right behind you. As long as you can fly that plane, we’ll be out of here.”
“Of course I can fly it.” Jack’s voice drops as he opens the interior door, checks the hallway, and waves Mac out. They creep down the hall until they come to an intersection in the corridor. One way leads to the front of the building, and the other to the room where the gunmen are now chatting as they wait for their trap to be sprung.
Jack moves to the door, while Mac stands in the hall. He switches his gun to his left hand and puts his right on the door handle, then gives Mac a nod. Mac arranges his three containers on the ground, lids set aside, and uncaps the jug so he’s ready to pour.
At Mac’s signal, Jack bursts through the exterior door and pounds across the pavement, making a beeline for the plane. He doesn’t look back. He’s ten feet from the building before anybody notices. By then, Mac has the lid back on the now-steaming first container.
Mac tosses the first grenade and knows it’s hit by the shouting that follows seconds later. The shooting ceases. He grins, checks Jack’s position, and throws the next one. Coughing and shouting. He counts to three before tossing the third and final smoke grenade and taking off after Jack.
Jack’s already in the plane. Mac hears the engine kick to life when he’s halfway across the tarmac. He feels like he’s running with an enormous target on his back.
The first shots hit the dirt to this right when he’s twenty feet from the plane. He dodges left but going that way will get him close to the propeller. Just then, the pilot’s door pops open and Jack leans out. He fires toward the building. “C’mon, step it up.”
Mac swerves right again and ducks under the plane’s belly. He yanks open the other door and has just hauled himself up into the seat when bullets slam against the metal skin of the plane.
The front seats of the plane are almost shoulder-to-shoulder, but Mac’s leaning just a bit farther forward as he pulls the door shut. He opens his mouth to confirm that he’s in just as Jack is slammed sideways. Mac doesn’t see the bullet, just the path it slices across the back of Jack’s skull, and the messy red that blooms in its path. Jack slams against his left shoulder, deadweight moving in the direction it was pushed, shoving Mac against his door.
“Jack!” Mac twists under Jack’s weight, struggling to push the larger man back toward his seat so he can see him. Jack’s gun falls from his limp hand to the floor and Mac is filled with hot fear. He knows what he saw. He knows he saw Jack get shot in the back of the head. But it doesn't feel right. Jack was just shouting at him a few seconds ago. He grabs Jack's shirt. “Jack! Jack, please, answer me.”
Jack’s eyes stay closed. There’s blood smeared all over the seat behind him, blood dripping down the headrest and the back of the pilot's seat. More bullets hit the plane, but nearer the tail this time, and Mac realizes that the change is location is because the plane has started to roll: Jack’s foot isn’t pressing on the wheel brakes anymore so the plane is propelling itself forward along the bumpy, cracked cement runway.
Mac gets his knees onto his seat and uses his leverage to press Jack back against the back of the pilot’s seat with his forearm, catching Jack’s bobbing head with his hand. He presses his other hand under Jack’s jaw on the other side. There’s a pulse there, a good one even though Mac’s hand comes away bloody. He doesn’t dare touch the back of Jack's head.
The plane jolts, making Jack’s head bob and the cracked-open door thump against the frame. Mac leans over Jack to grab it, pulling it shut, and pulling Jack's seatbelt across his chest to help hold him up so Mac can turn to look around the cockpit. He understands the physics of how planes fly, but he’s never actually flown a plane. That’s Jack’s area of expertise. One glance at the gauges and controls tells Mac that he’s not going to figure it out in the next two minutes before someone catches up with their runaway plane. Unless something changes soon, they’re out of escape routes.